Posted by: Silvana Stremiz
When God shuts up, you can make him say all that you want.
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When God shuts up, you can make him say all that you want.
I hate the victims who respect their executioners.
Evil is produced by the ability of men of making abstract what is concrete.
The world is iniquity; if you accept it, you are an accomplice, if you change it you are an executioner.
What is absolutely impossible is to not have a choice.
Idiots. It is repugnant to me to think that I am going to see their thick, self-satisfied faces.They make laws, they write popular novels, they get married, they are fools enough to have children. And all this time, great, vague nature as sleeped into their city, it has infiltrated everywhere, in their house, in theri office, in themselves. It doesn't move, it stays quietly and they are full of it inside, they breathe it, and they don't see it, they imagine it to be outside, twenty miles from the city. I see it, I see the nature... I know that its obedience is idleness, I know it has no laws: what they take for constancy is only habit and it can change tomorrow.
I know. I know that I shall never again meet anything or anybody who will inspire me with passion. You know, it's quite a job starting to love somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment, in the very beginning, when you have to jump across a precipice: if you think about it you don't do it. I know I'll never jump again.
My world... This great absurd being. One couldn't even wonder where it came from, all this, nor why a wold existed rather than nothing. It didn't have any sense, the world was present everywhere, in front, behind. There was nothing before that. Nothing. There wasn't a moment in which it couldn't have not existed. It was exactly this which irritated me: without a doubt there was no reason for it to exist, this crawling larvae. But it wasn't possible for it not to exist. It was unthinkable: to imagine nothingness one needed to be there already, in a full world, as a living soul, with wide eyes, nothingness was but an idea in my head, an existing idea, fluctuating within that immensity: that nothingness didn't come before existence, it was an existence like many others and appeared after many others.
Conscience is always conscience of something, of something that is not conscience.
I wanted for the moments in my life to follow each other and order themselves like those of a life remembered. It would be just as well to try to catch time by the tail.